


The Hour Come Round At Last

by servantofclio



Series: Val Shepard [8]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Mass Effect 2: Arrival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Shepard is sent to Aratoht, the mission tests her will, her skills, and her relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story had been rattling around in my head for a long time, and the 2014 Mass Effect Big Bang was a great opportunity to write it. Thanks to theherocomplex and probablylostrightnow for reading and commenting on the full draft, and to Celleno for the art!

Traditionally, there was no _afterward_ for a suicide mission.

Shepard had never accepted that label for their fight against the Collectors. In the aftermath, as her battered ship and her _intact_ crew returned through the Omega-4 Relay, they found themselves in something of a lull.

There was a night of full-out giddy euphoria, when they’d all but cleared out the stocks at the bar in the portside lounge. The _Normandy_ had limped its way to Omega, where the crew had taken a few days to nurse their wounds, and they’d spent a week doing the most critical repairs, the ones Tali, Joker, and EDI deemed necessary for getting them through a mass relay jump safely. Then they’d pushed off to Illium, where Liara had arranged for a better dock and crew for more extensive repairs and retesting. They’d still been busy; everyone had pitched in on the work, even Jack and Zaeed. Shepard, with assistance from Miranda, Mordin, and others, had spent hours putting together a detailed report which she’d sent to Anderson, hoping for the best. She wasn’t sure how much he could do; he’d made the Council’s intent to distance itself from her very clear when she’d met him last.

In spite of the work, it was a lull, one they all liked, one they were all grateful for. No one was shooting at any of them, for a change; there hadn’t even been any shipboard quarrels to settle for the moment. There was time for repairs, for people to relax, for wounds physical and mental to heal. Even Shepard was able to take some time away from work: time for her to take Garrus on a real date, like regular people, time to take the physical part of their relationship past awkward-but-good to just plain _good_ , time to convince him she was looking for more than a one-night stand. Though _convincing_ wasn’t really the right word, since they doing a lot of things other than talking. Not even sex, mostly, just... _being_ , in proximity to each other, that sort of early-romance blossoming that had never been so easy before. There were things they should talk about, but for now, the transformation of their friendship into romance almost took her breath away, if she stopped to think about it. Shepard had to turn her thoughts back to work to ground herself.

As good as the downtime was, it went on long enough that people were starting to get restless. Miranda reported that a number of the crew were considering leaving, especially now that Shepard had cut ties to the Illusive Man. Shepard heard much the same when she made her rounds of the ship. Samara was starting to talk about going back to Thessia, and Kasumi said wistful things about a new job, and Thane had been corresponding with his son. No one had asked Shepard _what’s next?_ yet—not in so many words—and that was good, because she hadn’t figured that out yet. She’d tossed around ideas with people individually, listening to what everyone had to say, but she hadn’t called a full team meeting yet, and she hadn’t reached a decision.

The most obvious thing to do was to return herself, her ship, and her crew to the Alliance, and yet... Shepard wasn’t sure. She’d worn Alliance blue for nearly half her life, but she wasn’t oblivious to its flaws. Any time there were politics involved, a person should tread carefully, and the Alliance was nothing if not political. Liara’s information suggested that some members of the Alliance brass wanted to try her for her connections to Cerberus, and she didn’t want to walk into a trap. Shepard had been the Alliance’s golden girl once—its Hero of Elysium, its Savior of the Citadel—but none of that had saved her reputation once she’d died, and it couldn’t be expected to save her now. She knew she’d have to answer for where she’d been for the last two years, but she didn’t want to spend unnecessary time bogged down in hearings and finger-pointing. The Council was another option, but one with its own set of problems; any links to Cerberus were no more welcome there than on Earth. She could try to operate the _Normandy_ independently, but the cost would quickly become prohibitive, unless Shepard felt like taking up Jack’s suggestion of turning pirate.

Whatever course she chose, the decision would have to be made soon. The _Normandy_ was almost fully spaceworthy again, and Shepard found that she was still waiting. Waiting for... she wasn’t sure what. For things to fall into place, at least in her own head; or for some opportunity to present itself, maybe. That was how she normally operated: oh, she prepared and planned for missions, but in the end, she usually went with her gut, let her fine-honed instincts tell her when was the moment to act.

Shepard’s instincts told her that the moment had come when, as she passed through the CIC, Kelly said, “Commander? There’s a message coming in for you. From Alliance Command.”

Shepard’s gut tightened. She could feel herself coming to alert, all her senses seeming heightened, as if she’d caught the scent of her quarry on the wind. She said, “Thanks, Kelly. I’ll take it in private.”

The yeoman nodded. The younger woman was still pale, Shepard noted, her eyes shadowed by the ordeal of her capture by the Collectors. Several of the crew wore the same haunted look. She’d done her best to buoy them up, to tell them how much she appreciated their work, but it wasn’t enough for what they’d been through, what the whole galaxy might go through soon.

Shepard turned on her heel and went up to her quarters.

When Admiral Hackett’s face filled the screen, Shepard had to fight the urge to snap to and straighten up like a fresh recruit. She wasn’t willing to give that ground, deliberately propping herself against the wall, lazy and casual. After what Kaidan had said—and knowing how cagey Anderson had been—she knew the Alliance was watching her, just as wary as she. She wasn’t officially theirs right now, and they both knew it. But this, this was clearly an overture. An overture that could get her killed, but an overture nonetheless.

Do this mission. Get us this evidence. Then we’ll hear you out.

It wasn’t what Hackett was saying, quite. But she thought she’d parsed the underlying message correctly. She didn’t know Hackett well. By reputation, certainly, and she’d had some contact with him during the last mission, but that was all. If the Shadow Broker’s dossiers could be believed, he was on her side. He’d covered for her, when others in the Alliance wanted to bring her in. Could be that was pure pragmatism, though. The Alliance didn’t have the force, the resources, to deal with the Collector threat. Not really. There was no way the Alliance could have operated in the Terminus systems as freely as she’d been able to.

She kept her eyes on his weathered, scarred face. She thought—she was sure, nearly—he was being straight with her. She kept her own voice flat and neutral, her posture relaxed. Insubordinate. Borderline insolent, really. But that was the deal, wasn’t it? She wasn’t in his command. She had no status, as far as they were concerned. But she might. If. If she did this thing. A favor. Not an order.

And the truth was, she wanted to. Of course she did. If this Dr. Amanda Kenson had information on the Reapers? Evidence they could use, could present before the galaxy? Hell, yes. They needed that. Evidence, presented by credible people, reasonable people with credentials, people who could talk about the science, about the evidence, without the weight of Shepard’s particular reputation. Shepard, the hero. Shepard, the lunatic.

Shepard, enemy of batarians everywhere.

She cut the call and let out a long breath. It might be a favor, not an order, but a lifetime of following orders made her nerves jangle. On the one hand, she had a superb team at her command. But, to get the Admiral on her side, she should probably play it the way he wanted. It had been a long time since she’d worked solo. It would be manageable, but she needed the right intel.

“EDI?”

“Yes, Shepard?” The AI’s voice was smooth and calm, like always.

“I assume you were aware of that call?”

“You did not invoke privacy controls before accepting the communication. I deemed it appropriate to monitor the transmission.”

Shepard smiled a little at EDI’s admission. “Yeah. Get me all the intel you can on the Bahak system, will you?”

“Of course. I should warn you that the Batarian Hegemony’s disinformation policies make it difficult to obtain accurate data from their systems.”

Shepard sighed. “I’m not surprised. Do what you can. I need a schematic of that prison, in particular.”

The team wasn’t going to like it, she reflected as she took the elevator down to deck 2. Better not to spread around her plans; there were key personnel who needed to know what was going on, but the rest didn’t need to be in the loop just yet.

She nodded to Kelly as she passed through the CIC on her way to the cockpit, closing the door behind her as she entered.

Joker either didn’t notice her unusual action, or chose not to comment on it. He spun around his seat to face her with a grin. “Hey, Commander. My baby’s almost ready to fly again!”

“Yeah.” Shepard crossed her arms. “When we get the all-clear from Engineering, I need you to set a course for the Bahak system.”

“Bahak? Where the hell’s that?” Joker turned back to the console to bring up the nav charts.

“Hegemony space.”

He spun back to face her. “What are we doing out there?” His green eyes were sharp under the brim of his cap.

Shepard kept her game face on. No point in showing anyone else the little knot of anxiety worming its way through her gut. “Got an Alliance scientist who needs a pick-up.”

His eyebrows went up. “Uh-huh.”

“... from a batarian prison.”

She expected some kind of wisecrack, but instead Joker’s eyes narrowed. He leaned back into the chair and let out a slow breath. “Well. I guess we’re the ride for the job.”

She nodded, relieved. “Looks like. We’re going in silent.”

“Understood.” He started to turn back to his console, but hesitated. “Is this—independent, or—?”

“Orders from Hackett.”

Joker’s shoulders straightened at that, and he gave one crisp nod. “Right, then.”

“I’m going to check in with Tali on the status of the stealth system now.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want that to suddenly fail in the middle of the batarian space,” he said, turning back to his work.

“No,” Shepard said, taking her leave. “That would be a real problem.”

She didn’t tell Tali _why_ she needed this particular report. She felt only the most minor surge of guilt about that. Keeping things on a need-to-know basis was for the best.

“It’s fully operational,” Tali said. “We... haven’t really had occasion to test it, but...”

“Run a test,” Shepard told her. They probably wouldn’t need it long. Twelve hours, maybe. From the relay to the planet, wait for shuttle drop, mission completion, and return, back to the relay. If the batarians spotted her ship in orbit, though, there’d be hell to pay, and she wasn’t going to let that happen to her crew.

She turned over in her mind who else needed to be informed as she took the elevator back up to the crew deck. Miranda, certainly. Garrus. Maybe. Probably. No, definitely. He’d take it personally if she didn’t inform him. He’d likely take it personally, anyway, but... Miranda first, then down to the battery.

As luck would have it, Garrus was perched awkwardly in the chair facing Miranda when Shepard came in. She stopped in her tracks, taken aback. “What are you doing here?”

They both looked up at her, slowly, two sets of blue eyes that could hardly be more different. “Giving Miranda a report on the state of the weapons systems?” Garrus said.

“Oh. Right.” This assignment had her on edge already. She needed to keep a cool head. She smoothed her hands down her thighs, to calm herself.

“But if you need to talk to her, I can go.” Garrus started to stand.

“No. It’s fine. I should... talk to both of you.” She was... probably taking a coward’s way out there, but it would be easier to get it out in one telling. “Don’t get up,” she added, because the last thing she wanted at the moment was to give this briefing with Garrus looming over her.

He settled back into the chair with his mandibles twitching. Miranda leaned one elbow on the desk, her eyes intent. “Is this about that call from Alliance Command?”

“Yes. I’ve been given a mission.” She didn’t miss the way Garrus’s expression twitched at the singular pronoun. Miranda was the one who spoke first, though. Her lips thinned as Shepard began the rundown, and then she flung herself back in her chair in a surprisingly graceless motion.

“Alliance? Really? After all this time, after putting you off, after ignoring the Collector threat—”

“I need them,” Shepard said, sharp and quelling. She didn’t need Miranda to give voice to her own qualms.

Miranda subsided, but a frown stayed plastered on her face—nearly a scowl, really—and Garrus had his mandibles tucked into a set, neutral expression that told Shepard he wasn’t any happier as she told them the rest.

When she was done, Miranda shifted forward again, hands loosely clasped and resting on her desk. “We need intel,” she admitted. “If this Dr. Kenson has something, it might be worth the risk.”

Shepard let out a slow breath. It was like Miranda to calculate the odds and choose the risk anyway. One of the things Shepard liked about her, to tell the truth. “That was my analysis, as well.”

“We need more data on Kenson,” Miranda added.

Garrus said, “Liara might be able to turn up something.”

“Good idea. I’ll get in touch with her,” Shepard said.

“Intel on the prison, too,” Miranda said.

“I’ve already asked EDI to work on it.”

“Solo missions aren’t usually your style, Shepard,” Garrus said. Carefully. She could hear the restraint in his voice, and see it in his tight expression.

“We all have to adapt,” she said, with deliberate cheer.

He started to speak, shut his mouth, and then spoke anyway. “Sure you don’t want to bring some back-up?”

She’d been expecting the question, and had her answer ready. “I’d prefer to stay within the Admiral’s mission parameters. A single operative will be better able to get in and out unnoticed.”

“I’m forced to agree, though I’d like to see more data on that prison,” Miranda said.

Garrus looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t.

“You’ll have the deck while I’m gone,” Shepard told Miranda, deciding to ignore his expression if he wasn’t actually going to speak.

Miranda nodded, accepting the command. That had been the normal status quo throughout the mission, and there was no need to change it now. “We’ll stay on alert, ready for extraction if necessary.”

“It should be easy in, easy out,” Shepard said. The idea that the crew would be available to back her up if things got dicey _was_ reassuring, she had to admit.

Garrus didn’t look as though he felt the same. He followed as she left Miranda’s office. “Shepard, a two-person team—”

“The mission parameters call for a solo operative,” she said, not wanting to debate the situation. “And right now I need to call Liara.”

His expression closed up and his shoulders stiffened.

“We’ll talk about this later?” she said, hedging.

Garrus nodded, relaxing slightly.

Considering that the Bahak system was on the other side of the galaxy from Illium, it didn’t take that long to get there. Only a few mass relay jumps. Enough time for Shepard to go over the intel EDI and Liara had turned up for her and cram as much of it into her brain as she could. Enough time for Tali to test the stealth system for an hour, to verify that it was operating correctly.

Enough time to have two more brief conversations in which Garrus tried to talk her out of going solo, and Shepard found a way to interrupt the conversation before it could go any further.

It was downright cowardly, and she knew it was. It wasn’t like her to run from a confrontation.

It wasn’t like her to have a relationship that she feared spoiling with a confrontation, either. Usually she was willing to have the fight and let the chips fall where they might. Work through it, if they had a chance. This was... something else again. What was between her and Garrus had too many layers. They were friends and comrades-in-arms, to start with. There was also the fact that he was her subordinate and accepted her orders, as a general rule. There was the fact that she’d come to take his tactical advice more and more seriously over the last few months. And then there was... whatever _else_ they were. Simple sex wasn’t the problem; the problem was that the thought of being on the outs with him made her palms sweat and her heart pound, and not in a good way. She’d had a taste of what that was like after she’d put herself between him and his traitor, and she hadn’t much liked the way he’d frozen her out afterward, even if she was forced to admit that she might have screwed up, that time.

She might have screwed up this time, too. They’d never talked about _love_ , she’d never really declared herself. They’d gone on a _date_ , they’d acknowledged they were in a _dating thing_ , not just a sex thing, but what that meant to her? What that meant to him? That, they’d never really talked about.

Stupid, probably. They’d had the time, hadn’t they, during that lull, and now they didn’t. There was only so much time before they reached the Bahak relay. Rest and food and reviewing the usual ship business and planning for the mission consumed enough of it. She had not allowed the time to have a fraught conversation with her—boyfriend—who was also her tactician—on top of everything else. She didn’t want to argue with Garrus. She was on edge enough about the mission as it was. There was too much riding on it.

But he didn’t simply accept that she kept putting him off, and that was itself a mark of their changed relationship. No, he sought her out, multiple times, until he finally caught up with her in the last hours before the drop. Shepard was in the armory, trying to decide which weapons to take with her. She didn’t look up when she heard the doors slide open and shut, assuming it was Jacob returning to his station, but she was wrong.

“Shepard. Can we talk for a minute?”

Her shoulders tensed. The back of her neck already ached from all the time she’d spent reviewing data at her terminal. But Garrus sounded hesitant, his voice tight and strained, so she straightened from her position leaning over the work bench and turned to face him. “Go ahead.”

He blinked a couple of times and rubbed the side of his neck, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “This mission... I really don’t like it.”

She had to bite back a sigh. “Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear.”

His mandibles flicked out, but he continued in a level voice. “I don’t understand why you haven’t considered alternatives. Thane and Kasumi would be an ideal support team—”

“We’ve been over this.” She kept her tone brisk and level, too.

He pressed on. “—both of them have considerable experience in infiltration, Kasumi’s a master at security systems, Thane is by far the expert at stealth—”

Shepard shook her head. “Garrus, stop. Orders are, it’s a solo mission.” If this was a protective thing he had going on, that was... sweet, she supposed, but it didn’t quite sit right.

“For what? For security? For deniability?”

Shepard pressed her lips together. He’d hit the nail on the head, of course, and the _deniability_ factor was part of what was nagging at her, setting a headache to pounding in her skull. Why had Hackett brought her in at all, instead of sending an N7 operative or team he knew he could rely on? She had a personal stake in the matter, sure, but... her ambiguous status also made her easier to disavow. When she didn’t respond, Garrus said, “If it’s that important that it be a solo mission, then _send_ Kasumi or Thane.”

She resisted the urge to rub her aching head. Instead, she crossed her arms, tightening them against her chest, and straightened her spine. “The admiral requested me. He’s getting me. We’ve got critical intel here, possible real proof that the Council can’t ignore—”

Garrus took a half step forward. “All the more reason to set things up so we have maximum chance of mission success. I don’t understand why you feel obligated to follow Alliance orders, considering how little support you’ve had from them.”

The ache in her temple throbbed. Shepard closed her hands into fists. “Maximum chance of mission success? What the hell does that mean?”

Her voice was rising. A small voice in the back of her head told her she should walk away right now. She ignored it.

Garrus blinked, tilting his head. “Stealth and infiltration are not exactly your specialties, Shepard.”

“Are you questioning my competence, Vakarian?” she said through gritted teeth.

“Wh— _no_!” His mandibles flared. “Absolutely not! But the mission parameters—”

“Stop. Just stop.” Her hand slashed across the air. “I am an N7 operative. I do, in fact, have training and experience in high-risk operations, both team and solo. I am also in command of this mission, and I do not need to justify myself to you.”

Garrus’s eyes widened minutely. He straightened, drawing himself up to his full height. “Really? That’s the way you want to play this? _Now_?”

It wasn’t, but Shepard felt tense enough to crack in two, and more words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “I don’t need you questioning my judgment.”

“Then maybe your judgment should _make sense_ ,” he snapped. “Forgive me, _Commander_ , but I was under the impression that you took advice from your teammates and—friends.”

The moment of hesitation before the last word cut her, but the headache was building itself into actual anger. “Your objections have been noted, _Gunnery Officer_ Vakarian. Report to your station at the battery. I want the main gun ready once we jump.”

He stared at her, posture rigid, and for a split second she wasn’t sure if he was actually going to follow the order. Then he turned in one swift movement and marched out.

Shepard let out a long breath. Part of her wanted to call him on the carpet for failing to acknowledge the order; part of her wanted to go after him and apologize. She couldn’t indulge either part right now. She needed to hold on to that simmering anger to push through the doubt and keep herself focused. She turned her attention back to her weapons and armor. The process of suiting up helped her to focus, as well, each piece of armor settling its reassuring weight on her body, building a solid shell around her. She could do this. She would accomplish this mission as ordered, regardless of what anyone else thought. She’d just have to mend things with Garrus once she got back.

The shuttle dropped her at a distance from the prison, sufficiently outside its sensor range. Shepard went the rest of the way on foot. It was growing dark when she dropped. Perfect timing; better concealment, and she’d arrive late in the day’s cycle. On the way, it started to rain. Shepard latched her helmet in place, automatically checking the oxygen stores—unnecessary, given the breathable atmosphere, but it helped quell the little surge of anxiety that came whenever she sealed herself into the helmet. The rain clattered against her armor, though the damp didn’t penetrate her shell.

If the batarians caught her—caught _her_ , after what she’d done on Elysium and Terra Nova—

They wouldn’t. She wouldn’t let that happen. If one or two batarians spotted her, that was easy enough to deal with. These were just prison guards, no match for an N7 operative. Especially a cybernetically augmented one. Her lips spread out into a tight smile that held no humor at all.

Get in. Free Kenson. Get out. Simple objectives. After that, she could find out what Kenson had. Liara’s reports on Kenson’s research had been interesting but inconclusive. Kenson’s previous research had involved surveying data from the relays, trying to estimate their ages. That didn’t explain what she was doing here and now, in batarian space, toward the galactic rim. Not so _far_ from Alliance space, as the FTL drive might take you, but about as unsafe as any place could be for a human.

Especially Shepard, Hero of the Blitz—

No. Not letting herself think about that.

The dark bulk of the prison facility loomed ahead of her, and Shepard fixed her mind on the task ahead.


	2. Chapter 2

In her haze of pain and confusion, Amanda Kenson was no longer sure if it had been days or hours since the batarians had captured her. She’d talked. Hadn’t she? Had she told the batarians what they wanted to know? Had they even asked the right questions? She couldn’t remember any more.

She was supposed to tell them—

No, she couldn’t tell them, not anything, especially not—

Wait for what?

For the arrival.

The arrival. Yes. The thought gave her a moment of comfort. The arrival would be glorious. She would see their terrible beauty. It would—

The door burst open. Amanda and her interrogator both blinked as the intruder aimed a blow at the batarian’s head and he fell hard to the floor.

“Dr. Kenson? I’ve come to get you out of here.”

A voice, reassuringly human, speaking English, calm and confident. A human woman, tall and armored, fair hair pulled back in a severe knot. Amanda stared as the woman stepped into the room and began undoing her restraints. Her lips were pressed together, brow creased in concentration. There was something familiar about the woman’s face. Wasn’t there? Something about the eyes? “Who are you?” she said.

“I’m Commander Shepard,” the woman replied, but Amanda already knew.

Shepard. Here. Now. Yes.

Somewhere, deep down, there was a surge of satisfaction, buried under her relief as the pain receded and she was freed of her bonds.

“I’d heard you were alive,” Amanda said. “Admiral Hackett must have received my message.” She’d sent a message, hadn’t she? Yes. She thought she remembered that, at least.

Her hands shook as she took her first free steps in... days, probably, her legs stiff and aching. There was something she should say. It was on the tip of her tongue to say... to say... to warn...

Her tongue froze in her mouth. No. There was nothing to say.

“We need to get out of here,” Shepard was saying, in a quiet, level tone, “and then I want you to tell me what you’re working on, Dr. Kenson. Admiral Hackett said you had evidence about the Reapers...”

Yes. The Arrival would be glorious.

No. The Project. She had to finish the Project, had to stop them.

No. She had to destroy the Project. No. Not that. She had to—

She had to take Shepard there. Show her— make her—

Her mind went blank. Amanda shook herself. What had she been thinking? She pressed a hand to her forehead. An effect of the torture, perhaps, her brain and body’s response to stress. Yes. That was it. She still ached in every limb, but the commander offered her a dose of medi-gel and she accepted it, grateful for the relief, grateful that no permanent damage seemed to have been done, even though her joints and muscles ached, and her head. She licked her chapped lips and said, “Find me a security console, and I can hack a way out.”

Shepard nodded and handed her a pistol. No questions asked. She assumed that Amanda knew how to use it, assumed she wouldn’t use it to shoot Shepard in the back.

Amanda blinked. Now why should she do a thing like that? Of course she wouldn’t.

She followed the other woman through the dank corridors of the prison, her gun braced in both hands. It wasn’t needed, in truth; Shepard dispatched a couple of batarians along the way with efficient shots, and once disappeared in a surge of biotic fields, reappearing by crashing into a guard fifteen meters away, who was bowled over by the impact and then blasted into paste by Shepard’s shotgun. Amanda blinked, staring at the carnage. It seemed like she ought to feel something about it, but she couldn’t seem to muster the conviction for it. She shook her head, and hurried to catch up.

They made their way to a security console, using the omni-tool they’d retrieved from Amanda’s guard as a guide. She’d have to rely on Shepard to protect her while she infiltrated the system. Shepard agreed with a nod and turned away, taking up a position where she could guard Amanda’s back.

Amanda had to fight just to keep her concentration, to not flinch as the barrage of gunfire began, at the shouts and screams she heard. She made herself as small as she could, ducking out of the field of view. She blinked sweat out of her eyes and tried to focus on the flickering screen, to bully her way through the batarians’ encryption, get the precious access to their systems which would allow them both to escape.

By the time they reached the shuttle, Amanda was nearly spent, but she kept pushing onward. The last thing she wanted was to fall into the batarians’ hands again. She had to get out, get free, or she’d miss—

Miss what?

She tried to shake off the moment of dizziness and confusion; Shepard caught her arm, tugging her along into the shuttle. Amanda fell heavily into the nearest seat while Shepard took the shuttle’s controls and steered the vessel out through the shuttle bay doors.

Having set the autopilot, Shepard turned to her. “What do you have, Dr. Kenson?”

Amanda shook her head, her tongue suddenly feeling heavy in her mouth. “Not... not here.” She explained about the Project and the Reapers. The Project. Yes. She had to show Shepard the Object. No, the Project, that was what she meant. She had to show Shepard the Project. She wrung her hands together, her fingers trembling against each other. She suggested that Shepard contact her ship from the Project base, rather than risk revealing the shuttle’s location.

Shepard listened with her face intent, green eyes sharp and focused. She gave a crisp, decisive nod, and settled back in her seat.

Yes. The Project. Take Shepard to the Object. Stop the Project. No, that wasn’t it, she needed to finish the Project. No.

Amanda pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to relieve the ache.

Wait. Patience. Once they got to the base, all would be well. Ready. Waiting.

#

For the first few hours, Garrus fumed.

_I want the main gun ready_ , Shepard had said. Fine. Perfectly appropriate when entering hostile territory. The _Normandy_ slipped into the Bahak system under stealth, quick and silent. He had the main cannon and the Javelin missiles primed and ready to go. It was all unnecessary, as it was supposed to be. The batarians couldn't detect them; the _Normandy_ approached to drop the shuttle, and then moved off to a safe point, out of the way of normal system traffic. The crew remained on alert, but the likely reality was that the guns wouldn’t be needed.

That didn't give Garrus much to do besides seethe. He replayed the conversation over and over in his head, trying to find what cue he'd missed or what he should have said differently. He’d overstepped the bounds, that much was plain. But he hadn’t expected Shepard to take his remarks as slights on her skills, and her decision wasn't _sensible_. He didn’t understand it. Usually she asked for his analysis, usually she consulted with the team; this time, she’d just shut down. It wasn't like her to be so resistant to solid advice.   
  
Especially...

His grip on the console made his gauntlets creak. He might have presumed too far. Put too much weight on talk about a _dating thing_ and the easiness of the last few weeks. He'd thought... he'd thought they'd made a turn. They hadn’t talked about it, not in so many words. Maybe he should have asked more questions, or different questions. Not about the mission, but about... them. Whatever they were doing. He was hardly any kind of expert in relationships, especially long-term relationships, much less cross-species long-term relationships. Damn, when he put it that way, the whole thing seemed even more insane than ever. When he and Shepard were children, their species had been at each other’s throats. He hadn’t thought it mattered. He’d thought whatever they were doing— _dating thing_ or... maybe even more—was about them, that was all. Just about two people who—like she said, trusted each other. So... yeah. He’d presumed. He’d presumed that she’d damned well want him at her back. He’d presumed that he could ask her to explain herself, and offer tactical advice. He’d done it before. Hell, he’d done it before he had any idea that she thought about him _that_ way.

But she'd reacted badly, and she'd reasserted her authority. She had every right to do so, but it left him on uncertain ground, fumbling for his footing. What other buried tripwires was he going to flush out? What was it, exactly, that she expected or wanted from him?

Nothing, apparently. Except to keep her ship's guns ready.

Garrus bit back a curse and waited. He couldn’t very well change the guns’ programming if they might be called on at any moment. He tried to busy himself with other, non-essential tasks while time ticked by.

At the three-hour mark, he said, “EDI?”

“Yes, Garrus?”

“Has Shepard made any contact?”

“No. The Commander has maintained radio silence since dropping on Aratoht.”

“And that was when?”

“Three hours, five minutes, thirty-one seconds ago.”

He frowned at the mechanism in front of him and tapped his talons against the console. “Are you getting any readings from the planet?”

“The prison sent a distress signal to the local Hegemony command base one hour, twenty minutes, and forty-five seconds ago.”

That sounded like the right time-frame for Shepard’s mission, all right, but how had she gotten off-planet? Garrus didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until EDI responded, “It is possible that she commandeered a local shuttle rather than contacting the _Normandy_ for retrieval.”

“Did any shuttles leave the surface at the right time?”

“Long-range sensors indicate several shuttles breaking atmosphere within a thirty-minute window of the distress signal, but local atmospheric conditions make it difficult to determine the trajectories of ground-to-orbit traffic with accuracy.” EDI almost sounded apologetic.

Garrus set his jaw and wheeled around, pacing toward the battery door. “Why would she take a shuttle and not contact the _Normandy_?” There was no way she’d be that angry, surely? No, that was absurd. She might have an issue with him, but not with the rest of the crew.

“I cannot speculate on the Commander’s motives.”

“Right.” He’d wait, he decided. There might have been interference; the local planetary weather conditions seemed bad. If she’d taken the shuttle, she’d make contact. Soon, probably. “Can you inform me as soon as Shepard does make contact, EDI?”

“Certainly.” There was a tiny pause. “I concurred with your assessment of the optimum mission personnel.”

Garrus took a moment to parse that statement and grimaced. “Thanks, EDI. Did you tell Shepard that?”

“She did not ask for my tactical assessment.”

“Nor mine,” he muttered. At least the AI thought he was right. Not much comfort, when Shepard was overdue.

As the minutes continued to tick by with no communication, that fact was less and less comforting. By the six-hour mark, all his anger had frozen into fear.

#

With the entire ground team assembled in the briefing room, Miranda laid out the facts as she knew them: Shepard had dropped onto Aratoht some thirty-six hours earlier and had been out of communication ever since. EDI had been monitoring in-system traffic and planetary communications, but they were inconclusive. _Something_ had gone wrong at the prison, but Shepard’s whereabouts were still unknown.

She looked around from face to face. Most of them looked somber. Even Samara’s usually serene countenance was creased with a frown. Garrus, the only one who’d been fully briefed before Shepard departed, stood with arms crossed and head tipped down. Zaeed looked speculative, his good eye narrowing; Grunt shifted his great weight from foot to foot, probably spoiling for action. Thane had his hands clasped behind his back, head tilted slightly to the side. Tali was wringing her hands together. Jacob’s jaw jutted out; Kasumi, beside him, was frowning, glancing at her omni-tool. The flaps around Legion’s optical beam fluttered. Mordin looked as grim as Miranda had ever seen him. Jack rapped one tattooed fist on the table. “Why the fuck didn’t Shepard say anything before?”

Miranda had wondered that herself. Shepard had been playing this one unusually close to her chest, but Miranda had chosen not to question her decisions. She was still a little shaken, herself, at the abrupt termination of her employment with Cerberus, and she’d deferred to Shepard’s judgment. Now, she chose her words carefully. “Shepard was asked to keep the matter discreet, and to make it a one-person operation.”

“Still,” Kasumi said mildly, “I could have helped her out with some cloaking action, if she really wanted to go solo.”

“It’s all bullshit,” Jacob declared. “Typical Alliance bullshit.”

Privately, Miranda agreed.

Jack sneered. “Fucking Alliance.”

“She must have had a reason—” Tali protested.

Samara added, “Orders from a superior—”

“Calculations of mission success—” Legion began.

The room broke down into a cacophony as half a dozen people started talking at once. Miranda had to raise her voice before the briefing descended into complete chaos. “That’s enough!”

For a wonder, they actually paid attention to her. She spared a moment to marvel at it. The group was mismatched, fractious, and half the people in it had reason to hate someone else there, but they’d followed Shepard through hell together. That counted for something. Aware of all the eyes on her, Miranda continued, “We are currently in the process of attempting to trace the shuttle and scan the system for any anomalies that might explain Shepard’s prolonged absence. Tali and Legion, please assist EDI in that endeavor. In the meantime, I request volunteers for a team to investigate the prison. The priorities here,” she added, with a sharp eye on Grunt, “are stealth and discretion. We don’t wish to draw any further attention to her presence; we do wish to be able to break her out, if necessary.”

“I volunteer,” said Thane immediately.

“So do I,” said Kasumi.

Several others spoke up, with Jacob in the lead, but Garrus’ voice cut through the din: “I’m going.”

All the eyes in the room turned toward him.

“Very well,” Miranda said briskly into the brief silence. Shepard’s relationship with Vakarian was hardly a secret, but neither was it precisely advertised among the crew. “Thane, Kasumi, and Jack, you’ll accompany him. You’ll have command, Vakarian. I’d like a word with you; the rest of you are dismissed. Ground team, suit up and meet at the shuttle in thirty minutes.”

He nodded. She waited until the rest of the team dispersed. There was a certain amount of muttering—from Zaeed and Mordin, mostly—but everyone went about their business. Garrus looked at her across the table, gaze cool and piercing. “What is it?”

“Don’t do anything rash,” Miranda said.

He straightened, mandibles flexing. “What—”

“Let’s not pretend we’re not both aware that your judgment may be compromised in this situation,” she said, cutting him off.

He stilled.

“This mission is reconnaissance and possible recovery, not revenge,” she said, coolly. “If Shepard is captive or injured, free her, treat her, and bring her back. Retaliation is unnecessary.”

Garrus blew out a breath, glancing over to his left before his gaze returned to her. “Yeah. I know. We’ll be discreet.”

She nodded, once, crisply. She trusted him that far, and he was a competent squad leader. Any one of the team would search as long and hard as necessary to recover Shepard, without whatever extra personal motivation he had, but on a purely dispassionate level of skills, she wanted his investigative experience down there next to Kasumi’s hacking and Thane’s infiltration expertise. She’d included Jack in case they needed biotics, as well. If they were going to figure out what Shepard had done, that was the best chance they had.

#

The ground team went down with stealth in mind. Thane and Kasumi might be the specialists, but Garrus could hold his own, and Jack, for all her love of explosions and overwhelming force, knew the advantages of silence and discretion as well. They dropped in silent and made their way to the prison through the murky rain of the planetary night.

Kasumi was the one who spotted the blown-out lock, telltale sign of Shepard’s illicit entrance. As they made their way inside, their focus on stealth hardly seemed to matter. They could follow a trail of dead varren and dead guards—some of the bodies had been moved, but the bullet holes in the walls and smears of blood on the floor told the tale. Garrus tried to avoid breathing too deeply. It was a run-down, shoddy installation in the first place, musty and fetid, and the scent of fresh blood didn’t do it any favors.

They found an empty and defensible security station. After a whispered conference, Thane disappeared to scout and Kasumi turned her attention to the console. Garrus fiddled with his omni-tool, trying to see if he could tap into the batarians’ comm feeds and get any useful intel.

“This place is rank,” Jack muttered, shifting her weight where she stood to his left. “Shittier than most of the prisons I’ve been in, even.”

Garrus glanced up. In spite of the conversation, Jack’s dark eyes were busy flicking over their surroundings, he noted with approval. “You a connoisseur of prisons, Jack?”

Her lip curled, revealing a quick flash of white teeth. “Someone’s gotta be. One thing’s sure, Girl Scout was here. Don’t know if she still is.”

Garrus nodded, his mood instantly sobering. The commotion they’d avoided and the destruction they’d seen were clear marks of Shepard’s presence.

“Kenson was definitely a prisoner here, too,” Kasumi put in. “Terrorism charges—something about using an asteroid as a weapon.”

Garrus considered that. Were the humans taking a cue from the batarians themselves? He’d been with Shepard on Terra Nova, and he didn’t think she would have condoned that, but he didn’t know about other human officials. That wasn’t why Shepard had been told to come after Kenson, though. “Anything about the Reapers?”

“No. Don’t have time to go through the entire interrogation log, but it doesn’t look like Kenson was giving them much. Aha!” Kasumi sounded cheerful. “Somebody hacked their systems and gained access to the shuttle bay a couple hours after Shepard departed the _Normandy_.”

“They stole the shuttle,” Thane said from the doorway. Jack swore and Garrus flinched.

“Fuck off, Krios, you scared the shit out of me,” Jack grumbled.

“Apologies.” Thane coughed, an unpleasant raspy sound. “Half the guard complement is dead. Kenson is gone. They did not identify Shepard, but the description matches. They must have stolen the shuttle to escape.”

“We already knew that was likely,” Garrus muttered. “The real question is, where did they go?”

“I’m afraid they didn’t file a flight plan,” Kasumi replied.

Garrus ignored the joke and frowned, mandibles pulling into his jaw. Why had Shepard not taken the shuttle back to the _Normandy_? That had been the plan. If she’d had another destination in mind, why had she at least not made contact?

Unless she couldn’t.

None of this made sense; too many questions seemed to crawl around in his brain and his gut. He glanced at the drell, who was leaning slightly against the door frame. “You all right, Thane?”

Thane coughed again. “Well enough. The batarians’ superiors are not pleased with them. They’re expecting some kind of official visit within an hour or two.”

“I’m done scrambling their security logs, and I downloaded their data,” Kasumi said.

“Let’s go, then,” Garrus said. “What we’re looking for isn’t here.”

Which left open the most compelling question: where _was_ Shepard?

#

Shepard came to with a gasp. She was lying on a familiar sort of flat surface, a little too hard and narrow for comfort: a bed in medbay. She recognized the weird mixture of dullness and tingling in her body, numbness fading from her extremities. Insufficient dosage. Wherever she was, whoever had dosed her, it wasn’t Dr. Chakwas, because they hadn’t understood how her augmented system processed and filtered chemicals.

Wherever she was— she wasn’t on the _Normandy_.

It came back to her in a rush: the prison, Dr. Kenson, the base, the Reaper object with its twisted, strangely mesmerizing shape, the vision it had shown her, the Reapers reaching toward the relay like great clawed hands—

_How long had she been out?_

There was a hollow ache at the base of her skull. Her amp socket was empty. Shepard kept herself still, eyes closed and breathing evenly, listening for her opportunity. When she heard a movement near her, she lunged out of her bed. It wasn’t that easy, of course; her reflexes were dulled by the drugs, even if they hadn’t kept her under, and the tech screamed and escaped. Shepard might not be that technically adept, but the remote control for the mech was designed to be easy to use. Even she could handle it.

Once she’d gotten herself out, killing the tech and destroying the security mechs as she went, it was a relief to spot her gear, haphazardly piled. She frowned as she strapped into it. Everything was here, armor, weapons, omni-tool, even her amp—all apparently undisturbed. Sloppy of them to just leave it there. Arrogant, as if they saw no possibility of her escape.

They were indoctrinated, though. Not thinking clearly. She swallowed, her throat feeling tight and gritty. How long had they had her, and what had they done to her in the meantime? She wasn’t aware of any injuries, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She had to get out of here, and back to her own people. Frowning, she looked around for some sign of the time.

She found it almost immediately: the damned countdown that Kenson seemed to have installed everywhere. Her breath caught as she processed the numbers, and she swallowed down a surge of nausea as the digital readout swam in front of her eyes.

Just shy of two hours remaining.

_Only two hours until the Reaper invasion_.

She wiped her forehead and tried to steady herself as every muscle in her body trembled. No. Impossible. That wasn’t nearly enough time. She had to stop it. Kenson had had a plan, with her Project; since Kenson had gotten herself indoctrinated, that meant it was up to Shepard to execute the plan.

And— she’d been here forty-eight hours. They’d had her for two days. She’d lost _two days_. Her crew had to be looking for her. Unless they’d been caught, too, but— that didn’t bear thinking about. No. They were under stealth. They had to be out there, still, searching for her. She only had to find them, get herself to working communications... and somehow fight her way through a base full of indoctrinated soldiers and researchers and find a way to activate their precious Project.

Garrus—

She couldn’t prevent the full-body shudder that overcame her, as she squeezed her eyes shut. He’d been right, he’d been entirely right. If she’d taken back-up, she wouldn’t be in this position now. He’d been right and she’d been wrong, absolutely wrong, and she’d shut him down, pulled rank, picked a fight and then _vanished for two days_.

He was going to _kill_ her. Assuming he’d ever speak to her again. Assuming she could survive.

She shook herself and put it to the back of her mind. She couldn’t think about that right now. She had to concentrate. Stay alive, find the comm, activate the Project.

Most of all, stay alive.

And only two hours. She took a deep breath, two, funneling oxygen into her body. Time to move.


	3. Chapter 3

Shepard ran. She couldn’t contact the _Normandy_ —she’d tried—but her omni-tool could still call up a schematic of the facility, so she made the most of it. The most direct route to Project Control took her through the living quarters, and there seemed to be guards behind every door. The whole place was remarkably militarized—were these Alliance troops she was killing? Mercenaries? She wasn’t sure, and couldn’t afford to ask. All of them were indoctrinated and willing to kill her; it was a matter of her own survival. A waste of life and talent. She cursed every delay, every time she had to drop into cover, sweating as the seconds ticked by and her blood pounded in her veins. They didn’t even need to kill her; all they needed to do was slow her down long enough.

She made it to Project Control, though, and hesitated when the bland VI’s voice announced the projected casualties. Three hundred thousand. She knew, from EDI’s estimates before she’d dropped, that some two-thirds of those were slaves. The number on the screen was too large, too anonymous, but...

... in the face of the galaxy’s trillions, it was hardly worth mentioning.

Unless— unless Kenson had been wrong _then_ , wrong about what her so-called Alpha Relay would do. She was indoctrinated; her word couldn’t be trusted.

But she was also trying to stop Shepard _now_ , with every member of her team arming themselves and putting themselves between Shepard and her destination. So— they didn’t want her to activate the Project, they’d kept her alive but sedated because—

She shook her head forcefully, trying to clear her head. She didn’t have _time_ for all this second-guessing, and she didn’t have anyone else to ask for advice, which was her own fucking fault. She had two choices, and her best guess was that if she _didn’t_ push that button, the galaxy would be full of Reapers in less than two hours. They needed more time. If she _did_ push the button, she’d be ending three hundred thousand lives. Every single one of those would be her responsibility.

_Batarians_ , the ugly thought floated toward the top of her mind. _They killed your family, destroyed your life_. She gritted her teeth, forcing that pulsing hatred where it belonged, far away in the back of her memories. The important thing here was the Reapers, and she didn’t have time to dither like a green recruit any more.

Shepard activated the engines.

#

The _Normandy_ ’s crew had been scouring the Bahak system for hours. The data they’d liberated from the prison on Aratoht wasn’t especially useful; the records of Amanda Kenson’s interrogation said little, and nothing about Shepard. They were trying to track the shuttle that Shepard and Kenson had evidently taken from the prison, but that was difficult with no idea of its heading. Sorting it out from the usual in-system traffic and other flotsam was taking longer than Garrus would have liked. To complicate matters, they needed to stay in stealth mode and out of visual range of any batarian ships or installations. The build-up of heat was starting to be uncomfortable for most of the crew.

Less so for Garrus; it almost felt homey, like the Palaven climate he’d grown up in. The pungent odor of human sweat was less appealing, though, and the heat and tension were making most of the crew short-tempered. Everyone, not just the ground team, knew by now that something had gone very wrong. Garrus had tried to catch a few hours of sleep after the sixth time Joker had made a sarcastic remark about him lurking in the cockpit. It had been restless sleep, though; he didn’t think he’d dropped off for more than a couple of hours when EDI’s soft voice spoke his name.

He sat up in his cot immediately. “Yeah, EDI?”

“Joker asked me to inform you that we have identified an asteroid in the system that is on an intercept course with the mass relay.”

“What?” He was out of bed immediately and reaching for his armor.

“The asteroid in question appears to have had engines mounted to it.”

Garrus frowned at that. “The batarians were right about Kenson, then.” They’d accused her of terrorism, though the human scientist had denied the accusations under questioning.

“The engines have recently been activated,” EDI continued, in a tone of mild reproof. “I estimate impact with the mass relay in twenty-four minutes.”

“Shepard,” he murmured. Had Kenson gotten Shepard on her side somehow? But why would they want to hit the relay? And why hadn’t Shepard contacted the _Normandy_? Something here wasn’t right. There was still too much missing information.

“Shepard is frequently in the vicinity of unusual phenomena, it is true.”

Garrus thought, hard. “What happens if an asteroid hits a mass relay?”

There was a brief pause before EDI’s reply, which did nothing to settle his nerves. “To my knowledge, such an impact has never been attempted. My projections indicate that the amount of energy released could be extremely destructive to anything in a substantial radius of the relay.”

“What is she doing?” he muttered, then added, louder, “that was a rhetorical question, EDI. So we need to not be here when that asteroid hits, is that what I’m understanding?”

“That is correct.”

“Then let’s get Shepard off that rock,” he said, closing the last seal on his armor and heading for the door. It was only a guess, but it was the best guess he had.

Up in the CIC, the last days of worry had turned into a flurry of activity, with Miranda herself at one of the consoles. Garrus nodded to her and strode down the corridor toward the bridge.

“Before you say anything,” Joker said without turning around, “we’re already headed to the asteroid. We’re headed there, it’s headed to the mass relay, so we’ll all be in the same place. If Shepard’s there, we’ll grab her and run for it.”

“If?” Garrus inquired.

Joker shrugged. “Could be a coincidence?”

Garrus snorted, unwillingly. The pilot grinned for a moment, his eyes never leaving his instruments. “Yeah, I don’t think so, either.”

He kept silent as Joker worked, watching the mass relay and the asteroid loom larger. “You going to just keep looming there?” Joker grumbled, still focused on his work.

“Yes,” said Garrus flatly.

Joker blew out an exaggerated sigh, just as the comm crackled to life. “Shepard to _Normandy_! Joker, do you read me?”

It was Garrus’s turn to let out a huge breath. He’d never been more relieved to hear her voice. Ragged and strained, but definitely hers.

“We read you, Commander,” Joker said smoothly.

“Transmitting coordinates for pickup, asap.”

“Good thing we’re already on the way,” Joker replied. “You okay, there, Commander?”

“Good enough, just get over here.” She sounded terse and fatigued, but her voice was strong. Garrus allowed his shoulders to relax a trifle, but he stayed on alert as Joker made the approach, stepping back into the corridor leading back to the CIC. He’d be ready if Shepard needed any back-up at the airlock. He stayed there until Shepard tumbled through the entrance, smelling of smoke. There were fresh pits and charring on her armor. Garrus took a step forward, but she bolted toward the pilot’s seat without seeing him, shouting, “Get us out of here!”

“On it,” Joker said, fingers flying over the consoles as they changed heading and geared up for the relay jump. “Cutting it a little close there, Commander.”

“You have no idea,” she said, turning toward the corridor. She stiffened as she saw Garrus there, and her eyes slid away from his. She was paler than usual, the dark rings under her eyes standing out. Her skin shone with sweat, dampening the streak of soot across her cheek. Her mouth was drawn tight. She strode toward the CIC as if she didn’t see Garrus, and he stepped aside automatically, allowing her to brush past. She didn’t say a word. He stared after her in confusion. Was she still angry with him? He followed, watching as she took her post at the galaxy map. He opened his mouth to call after her.

Miranda spoke first. “Shepard, what happened down there?”

She shook her head, staring down at the map screen with a glassy expression, bracing both hands on the railing. Garrus became aware of the slight sense of dislocation that meant they’d passed through the relay, but Shepard still didn’t move.

“The asteroid has impacted the relay, Commander,” said EDI. Shepard’s head dropped, so he could only see her hair, a few wisps escaping from their knot.

“Shepard?” asked Miranda.

Shepard shook her head. “Casualties, EDI?”

There was a brief silence before the AI responded. “Preliminary data indicates that the relay is gone. The energy released by its destruction—”

“—destroyed the entire system,” Shepard finished.

“That is correct, according to my best estimates,” EDI replied.

Shepard slumped, her grip tightening ont he railing, her head bowed. Still, her voice cut through the CIC. “I just delayed the Reaper invasion,” she said. “At a cost of three hundred thousand lives.”

Silence fell. More than few crew members glanced at each other with furrowed brows. Miranda left her station and moved closer to Shepard, her footsteps loud on the decking. “You should check in with Dr. Chakwas,” she said gently.

Even from the other end of the CIC, Garrus could see Shepard shudder. “Yes,” she said. “I was out for— a while.” She pushed herself into an upright position. She glanced around the room, but did not look at him directly before turning and walking toward the elevator, a slight hitch in her stride. He could only stand and watch her go, unsure how to help, or if his help would even be welcome.

#

Shepard had never had a hard time looking her team in the eye before. But as they gathered, in ones and twos, their worry and curiosity so thick in the air she could almost taste the bitter edge of it, Shepard found herself unable to lift her eyes from the smooth surface of the briefing room table. She counted in her head as one figure after another appeared in her peripheral vision, coming to stand around the table, and when she finally dared to look up, the whole combat team was there, eleven pairs of eyes and one set of geth optics. She couldn’t read their expressions—anywhere from wariness to suspicion to simple curiosity—and she dreaded the thought that those expressions were about to change. Would they understand what she’d done?

Dr. Chakwas had told her there was no change in her neural scans, no trackers, no new cybernetics, no poisons, nothing introduced to her system. She didn’t show any signs of indoctrination—they couldn’t detect it reliably, but Kenson had certainly been indoctrinated, and Shepard wouldn’t have been able to oppose her if she were indoctrinated herself, would she? All her injuries were superficial; the bruises and burns ached, but they were already mending. Shepard still didn’t know why Kenson and her people had kept her alive, and it filled her with a deep disquiet.

She looked again at the inscrutable eyes surrounding her, and took a deep breath and swallowed before she began. “I think you all know by now that two hours ago we left batarian space just before a large asteroid struck the relay in the Bahak system. What most of you don’t know is that the collision was deliberate, and that the impact destroyed the system.”

She laid it all out: the mission, Kenson’s rescue, her intel on the Reapers, and then the disaster at Project Base. She found herself looking over their heads as she spoke, not wanting to see their faces change, but she was aware of Garrus’s icy gaze to her left as if it were boring a hole into her.

For the most part the team listened in silence; Shepard ignored the occasional mutter or indrawn breath. Their attention seemed to concentrate, all those sharp minds bearing down on her as she spoke. “I want to emphasize,” she finished, “that what took place in the Bahak system was solely due to my actions. I take full responsibility, and full blame, for what occurred. I will make clear to all official inquiries that none of you bear any responsibility for the destruction of the mass relay, or the death of the system’s inhabitants.”

She stopped then and waited, her gaze sliding back to the table top.

“Bullshit,” Zaeed grumbled.

“Massani’s right,” said Jacob. “You were there on Alliance business, Shepard—”

She interrupted without looking up. “You were a corsair, Jacob. You know that’s not how it works.”

His mouth tightened, but he gave her a short nod.

“Is there any evidence to support Kenson’s claims about the Alpha Relay?” Miranda asked.

Shepard took a breath and let it out. “I— don’t know. I recorded what I could and dumped some of their data onto my omni-tool, but I didn’t have a lot of time. That includes some logs from the Project team, but the rest of their records...” She trailed off. The rest of the records were gone, along with the base.

“We’ll extract the data from your omni-tool,” Tali said. “We’ll— if there’s useful evidence there, we’ll find it, Shepard.”

“Kenson’s published research may yield insights,” Mordin added.

Shepard nodded. “Let’s pursue both those angles. Anything else?”

She waited as the group broke up into competing conversations, over whether Admiral Hackett was also indoctrinated, whether the destruction of the relay could be traced to her through anything other than Alliance channels. Garrus was quiet, she noticed, contributing only occasional brief remarks to the discussion. Eventually Miranda turned back to Shepard. “We have no idea what the Reapers’ next move is,” she pointed out. “If they were approaching that system from dark space, we don’t know whether they will change their target, or how they’ll proceed. We have no real knowledge of their timeline.”

Shepard grimaced. “I know. It could be days or weeks or months. But we didn’t know any of that three days ago, either, so the difference between then and now is— minimal.”

Miranda nodded, and most of the others followed, looking thoughtful. Shepard had to swallow the bile that rose in her throat. _Minimal_ , except for the hundreds of thousands of dead. “That’s it for now,” she said briskly, cutting through the team’s low-voiced chatter. “I’ll be making my report to the Alliance within the day. If you have ideas on how to proceed, contact Miranda or me, as usual.”

She left without looking back, keeping her head held high, but it was only a moment before she heard familiar steps behind her. “Shepard,” said Garrus, “can we talk?”

Shepard stopped at the door to the CIC. For one moment she thought of putting off the conversation, coming up with some excuse—she did need to finish her report, after all—but she stopped herself. That was exactly the sort of avoidance she’d been practicing before the mission, and it hadn’t done her any good. She should let Garrus say whatever he had to say, no matter how hard it was to hear. She took a deep breath and summoned her courage to look back over her shoulder. Garrus was watching her with an inscrutable expression. His mandibles twitched as she met his eyes, and Shepard tried to put on a smile. “Sure. Let’s... talk in my cabin.” Her quarters weren’t the ideal place to have this conversation, maybe, but there weren’t a lot of other appropriate places to have a private talk on a frigate.

He nodded and followed along. Not quite falling into step beside her, but rather a pace behind. Nothing inappropriate about it, it was entirely respectful, but even that little gap made Shepard feel cold. He was silent, too, as they took the elevator to deck one. The silence seemed to gain weight and shape, a shell of invisible armor between them, staying even after they stepped out of the elevator. Garrus waited that dutiful pace behind as Shepard opened the door to her quarters. She turned once they’d entered, squaring her shoulders. “So. Something you’d like to say?”

Garrus looked at her, pale eyes intent but unreadable. She felt the barest trace of sweat between her shoulder blades and couldn’t help but think back to that first night, only a few weeks before: badly chosen music and civvies and an atmosphere of fragile hope. The contrast between then and now was painful.

“Shepard, are you all right?” he said.

She kept her spine straight. “I’m fine.”

He shifted, as if to step or reach toward her, and then stopped himself. “Shepard.” His voice was low, a deeper undertone to it that she didn’t know how to read. Only a few days ago she’d thought she could read him so well, and now every move seemed to be speaking a language she had no translation for.

“What do you want me to say? I screwed up.” She turned away, dimly noting the multicolored fish idling about in their tank. Lucky fish. They didn’t have anything more to worry about than food and swimming around with the other fish. The light and color beat against her eyes, and she turned her head further, toward the dimmer recesses of the bedroom. “I screwed up, and I killed three hundred thousand people. Damn it. I—” She let out a bitter laugh. “I owe you an apology, actually. You were right. I should have listened to you. I should never have gone down there solo. With a team, maybe—” Her breath caught. Maybe the Project’s indoctrinated troops wouldn’t have overwhelmed her. Maybe she wouldn’t have spent two days unconscious. Maybe they’d have been able to buy more time. “—maybe they could have evacuated, or found a better solution, or—”

Garrus interrupted in a perfectly calm, even tone. “It would take days to evacuate a colony of that size, even if they’d believed the warning, which is unlikely. And you know what would have happened: high-caste batarians would have saved themselves and left their slaves behind. Except for their favorites, maybe.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I know.”

“You did the best you could with the information you had.” A slight noise, him taking a step, probably.

Shepard shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I should have assembled a team. I should have returned to the _Normandy_ instead of going to Kenson’s base. I made mistakes, stupid mistakes, I fucked up, I—” Her eyes were burning.

Another soft step, and she recognized the wry, gentle tone of his voice this time. “Aren’t you the one who’s told me not to dwell on past mistakes?”

She shook her head again, blindly. These mistakes were only days or hours old, too raw. “I fucked up,” she choked out. “I’m sorry, I should have—”

A hand on her shoulder, a soft weight that made her gasp, the tears gathering in her eyes, but she pushed on to get it out: “Maybe I didn’t have a choice, but I still did it. Those deaths are still on my head, because I was too—” She was shaking all over, then, uncontrollable tremors racking her body, and pulled away from the offered touch. “It was a bad order and I knew it was, and you were right but I wouldn’t hear it because—” There was no good reason, in hindsight. She’d been too proud, or too stubborn, or trying to prove to Hackett that she was still a good marine who could get the job done—something—she didn’t even know what, any more. Nothing that was worth the cost. Three hundred thousand. It was too big a number, and it was her responsibility.

“It happened,” he said softly. “From what you said, it was necessary to buy us more time. I’ll be honest, I—” His voice faltered, with an odd clicking sound. “I’m grateful you survived. Without you—”

She forced her damp eyes opened and looked back over her shoulder. He was still standing close enough to touch, but holding back, his hands curled into loose fists. “I’m surprised you can even look at me,” she burst out. “After what I did.”

He blinked, mandibles flaring in surprise. “No, I— I was worried for you.” He reached out again and put a tentative hand on her shoulder, and this time she leaned into it, her head drooping. With more confidence, his arm slid across her shoulders, a weight so reassuring that she dissolved into tears. He gathered her in, pulling her firmly against his chest, and she was blindly, pathetically grateful for it, even with his armor hard against her cheek.

“What’s going to be next?” she said when her tears let up enough for her to breathe again. “Why do I have to be the one who makes these calls? Fuck it all, I should have let Alenko grab that beacon back on Eden Prime.”

Garrus snorted. “What if you did, and he couldn’t handle the visions? We’d all be dead already.”

She shuddered and leaned into him.

More quietly, he added, “There’s no one I’d trust more to make these decisions, Shepard. For what it’s worth—if I’d been down there, I would have activated the Project, too. I don’t know if that helps.”

Shepard blew out a watery breath. She was badly in need of a tissue. “It does help a little,” she admitted. “I’m... glad you’re not angry with me.” Almost pathetically glad, in fact. He had every right to be, as far as she was concerned. The fight they’d had before she left had been bad enough, even if the mission had gone as planned. Even leaving aside the enormity of what she’d actually done.

“I was,” he said after a moment. “But that hardly matters now.”

She nodded and finally extracted herself from his arms to wipe her face. This, at least, she probably hadn’t broken beyond repair.

But Garrus was right; not much mattered now. To the galaxy at large, she’d look like a monster. She was going to have to face the consequences of what she’d done.


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. Chakwas had insisted she sleep, and given her the pills to enforce it, but Shepard only took half a dose before tumbling into her sheets, alone. Garrus had left to let her work on her report, and she had spent the next few hours trying to put the clusterfuck of the last few days into words.

She dreamed of Aratoht burning. A sheet of fire blazed across the sky, seething red and blue together. People screamed and cried, ran for ships and shuttles that would never escape in time. Slaves were left behind, pushed to the side as their masters tried to save themselves. Those left behind wailed, fled into hiding. She saw the whole scene as a distant observer, as if she were watching a vid, stunned silent at what she had done. Three of the slaves huddled together, thin and worn and scarred. They threw their arms across each others’ shoulders, gathering themselves into a ragged knot. She could see the hard metal of their collars. When they lifted their faces to the burning air, she saw that they weren’t batarian; they had two eyes each, pale and glinting, as the sky turned black with ash. She realized, with a sudden rush of horror, that they were her brothers, stolen from home so long ago, lost, and now dying at her hand. She opened her mouth to scream or call to them, but no sound came.

Shepard woke with a gasp, hands clenching in the sheets, and stared up at the silent stars. She counted out her breaths, inhaling and exhaling for an even count of four each, letting her racing heart slow. It hadn’t happened that way, she told herself. Whatever happened to Aratoht, it surely had been as quick as it was sudden. There would have been no time for anyone to suffer. And besides that, her brothers had died on Mindoir. They hadn’t been taken and broken to the collar and the prod. It hadn’t happened that way.

She lost count of the number of times she had to repeat the thought to herself before she finally felt calm.

The _Normandy_ would rendezvous with Hackett’s ship in the next day-cycle. The meeting had her on edge, too; they were meeting in space, instead of on Arcturus Station or the Citadel or Earth—somewhere far away from everything, somewhere deniable. Maybe it was simple proximity; Hackett wanted her report in person and fast. An entire system had gone dark and a mass relay had blown up: those things required explanation.

Still. For once she’d have preferred to give her report in someone’s nice well-lit office, with plenty of witnesses and an exit strategy.

She sat up and rubbed both hands over her face before she checked the time. Middle of the night watch, rendezvous in about four hours. No real point in going back to sleep, even if the idea didn’t made her palms sweat. Better to get up, maybe get something to eat and some coffee, and go over her report again.

She threw on the nearest clothes, the black-and-white Cerberus fatigues. She really needed some better wardrobe options. She didn’t like the idea of facing the admiral in Cerberus colors, but she had no alternative.

At this hour, the ship should be quiet, with only a skeleton crew on duty. Shepard expected, therefore, to find the crew deck empty. She drew up short when she discovered Mordin and Samara sitting on either side of one of the tables, with a pair of steaming cups in front of them.

She had mostly avoided the crew, aside from the briefing. She’d talked to Thane briefly in the medbay before her release, and she’d talked to Garrus afterward, but apart from that she’d let Miranda handle most of the logistics and kept to herself, only exchanging practical messages with Miranda and Tali and a few others. Of all the crew members, Samara was perhaps the one she least wanted to confront: the justicar, who was sworn to exact justice for the deaths of innocents.

She might have just backed out of the room, but Mordin had already spotted her, and waved her in. “Ah, Shepard! Come, sit. Tea?”

She came in slowly and stiffly, choosing a chair at the end of the table. “Coffee,” she said. “I can get it myself—”

“No need,” said Mordin, and sprang out of his chair, heading into the galley.

Unwillingly, a smile tugged at her mouth. “You make coffee?” Shepard said, trying to set herself at ease.

Mordin sniffed. “Of course. Usually first up. No taste for terran alkaloids, myself, but vital for crew morale.”

“Huh,” Shepard said.

It was quiet in the mess and none of them seemed inclined to break the silence, undergirded by the hum of the ship’s engines. Shepard stared at the table, at the bulkhead, anywhere she could to avoid Samara’s serene, penetrating gaze while Mordin puttered, and it was all too soon that the salarian came back to the table with a mug for her.

“Thanks,” she said, accepting the cup and taking a cautious sip. Strong, black coffee, just like it was supposed to be.

“Difficult business, on Aratoht,” Mordin said, resuming his seat.

Shepard grimaced. Trust Mordin to hit right on the most awkward and sensitive subject. Then again, she could hardly blame him. It had to be the one topic that everyone on the crew was discussing behind her back. “Yeah,” she sighed.

“Sacrificing few for many. Common moral dilemma.”

“It need not be a dilemma,” Samara said, her calm voice cutting the air between them. “All else being equal, it is always better to preserve the greater number of lives.”

“I know that,” Shepard said. She took another swallow of coffee and shook her head. “I know that up here, at least.” She pointed to her head. “Knowing that isn’t making me feel any better.”

“Human emotional processing takes time,” Mordin said.

Shepard breathed in the familiar coffee aroma and exhaled slowly. She’d never had a lot of patience for things like this, chewing over her emotions during down time. She’d report to the admiral soon. Who knew what was coming after that? She needed to get her head on straight, fast. “How do you come to terms with something like this?”

Mordin sniffed, large eyes blinking. “Salarian emotional processing quicker. Have told you this already, Shepard.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “That’s hard to believe, after all the talks we’ve had, Mordin.”

He shook his head. “Made right choice at the time, given information known, given projections. Accepting consequences of choices—” He inhaled and shrugged. “Another story. Can change opinion later, with new data.”

Shepard looked down at her mug, with a frown. She was in a similar situation. Coming to grips with those consequences was another story.

“As you know, I have had to do difficult things as a justicar,” Samara said. Shepard looked up as she spoke, and was relieved to find that the asari’s pale eyes regarded her much the same as they always had. “The Code defines what I must do and what I may do, so I am relieved of certain decisions. Yet,” she said, tilting her head slightly forward for emphasis, “I have not been without difficult choices. I am sympathetic to your situation, Shepard.”

Shepard took another swallow. “I killed innocents,” she said, her eyes drifting to the dark liquid in her cup.

“You did, in pursuit of a higher mission, and for the welfare of many more. You acted as a justicar must.”

Reluctantly, Shepard found herself half smiling. “It’s a relief to know you won’t be pursuing me later, Samara.”

The justicar returned her smile, a slight and graceful curve of her mouth. “That will not be necessary, no.”

Shepard rubbed her forehead. “I’m not... easy with the decision I made, but based on what I knew...” she trailed off, her throat growing tight.

“No other choice possible,” Mordin said. “Must come to terms in your own time, Shepard.”

“I have found meditation a useful tool in contemplating my own decisions,” Samara said. “If you would care to join me, you know where to find me.”

Shepard finished her coffee and managed a real smile. “I might take you up on that. Thanks.”

It wasn’t much. But at least, if her crew didn’t hate her, she had the tiniest hope that she might be able to persuade others, too.

#

They were going to rendezvous with an Alliance ship physically to deliver Shepard’s report, rather than simply transmitting the files, and that was unusual enough to have Garrus on edge, even without the tense mood of the vessel. Like most of the crew, he pretended things were normal, busying himself at his station, and actually managed to bury himself in firing algorithms for a short time before the battery doors opened behind him.

He turned to see Shepard enter, in her usual black and white uniform. She gave him a brief, tight smile and dropped onto the crate at the side of the battery, her eyes distant and unfocused. She propped one elbow on her knee and dropped her forehead into her hand.

Garrus considered several overtures and settled on, “How did it go?”

“The Admiral came in person,” she said.

In Garrus’s experience, when high-tiered officers interested themselves personally in a case, that was never a good thing. “Mm,” he said, trying not to give away his unease.

“I think he understood,” she said, but her voice was uncertain.

“But?” he said cautiously. Just because they’d talked, it didn’t mean they had fallen back into the old rhythms. He didn’t want to push too hard; he wasn’t sure how she’d respond to any questioning on his part.

Her mouth stretched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “He handed me back my report.”

“So he left without any evidence that you did report,” he said slowly, unable to conceal the dismay from his voice. The whole situation was altogether too deniable for his taste, reminding him of how the Alliance and the Council had both let lies run rampant after she died.

“Yeah.” Shepard rubbed her palms briefly against her thighs and stood, pacing until she could lean against the railing overlooking the guns. “I’m going to have to answer for what happened. I’ll get a summons to Earth. There’ll be... some sort of hearing.”

Garrus took that in and his eyes narrowed. “Wait. The Alliance wants to put you on trial?”

His visor told him that Shepard’s heart rate jumped at that. “What are they supposed to do?” she asked flatly, staring at the guns. “I destroyed a mass relay and wiped out a system. That can’t just be swept under the rug.”

“You’re a Spectre,” he pointed out. “The Alliance doesn’t have any jurisdiction over you.”

She snorted and cast him a look. “Do you really think the Council is going to back me up? Especially since it was Hackett’s mission? They told me to keep a low profile and stay in the Terminus Systems. It doesn’t get much more high profile than blowing up a relay.”

He had to acknowledge the truth of that.

“Besides,” Shepard went on, “the Alliance needs to mobilize against the Reapers. If there’s a hearing—if I’m allowed to testify—I have a chance to make my case. It might do some good. Win somebody over.”

“Do you really think so?” he said, letting disbelief hum through his subvocals.

Shepard’s mouth turned up fractionally, and she shrugged. “I have to try.” She didn’t sound as confident as usual.

“And what kind of penalties are you looking at, if found guilty?”

Her shoulders hunched. “Promise you’ll visit me in jail?”

He couldn’t halt his quick, indrawn breath. “Shepard—”

“The batarians would execute me,” she said, staring at the guns with a fixed expression. “So it’s better than that, at least.”

In spite of himself, Garrus found his voice rising. “And you’re going to _submit_ to this? When it was the Alliance that sent you there?”

“What would you have me do?” she snapped. She pushed herself away from the railing and turned to face him, her hands flexing. “Take the _Normandy_ and flee to the Terminus Systems?”

“It’s an idea.”

“It’s a bad idea, and now you sound like Jack,” she said sharply. “Think it through. Every batarian in the Terminus would be after me, and most of the bounty hunters. The Council would have to declare me a rogue. I killed more people than Saren’s geth did on Eden Prime. They’d send a Spectre after me. Maybe more than one.”

“You’ve dealt with Spectres before,” he said.

“And I’m supposed to just leave a trail of dead Spectres behind me wherever I go?” Now her voice was rising, taking on an unaccustomed sharp note. “It wouldn’t just be me, Garrus, they’d come for _us_. You, the rest of the crew, maybe even your families. I can’t drag you all down with me.”

Garrus nodded, his jaw tightening, but he wasn’t done. “That doesn’t mean you have to just accept their orders.”

She put a hand over her eyes and exhaled slowly, carefully. “I don’t want to argue about this. I don’t see what other viable option I have. I have to submit to judgment.”

His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, watching her biometrics. Her pulse was up. With care, he said, “You think you deserve punishment.”

“Don’t I?” She spread her hands. “Three hundred thousand dead, Garrus. You care about justice. Don’t they deserve some?” Her eyes were wide, boring into his.

“You did what you thought was necessary,” he said, holding her gaze, trying to will her to listen, this once.

Shepard sighed. “Yeah. That’s what I keep telling myself.” One hand came up to rub her eyes. “They’re going to say it’s because I hate batarians, because of Mindoir and the Blitz. They might even be right. Would I have done the same thing if it were a colony of humans? I don’t know.”

“I do,” he cut in before she could get any further, keeping an eye on her heart rate. There was no sense in letting her wind herself up further.

She shook her head, but her lips turned up in a smile that still seemed sad. “I’m going to turn over the _Normandy_ , as a gesture of good faith.”

“The Illusive Man won’t like that,” Garrus said, attempting a chuckle.

She met it with a shaky smile. “That just makes it more fun to do.”

“What about the crew?” he asked.

Shepard took a deep breath and looked up. “I’m going to recommend everyone disembark instead of returning to Earth. The exact circumstances of my— surrender— we’ll have to negotiate those, but I’ll make sure there’s time to get everyone to some decent port.”

“I’m staying,” he said. Even as he said it, he remembered with a guilty twinge the message from Solana that he still hadn’t replied to.

“You don’t have to. You’d just be cooling your heels while they tried to decide what to do with me.” Her smile was tight and forced, and he thought there was a touch of fear in the depths of her eyes.

“Still,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “You could use the company.”

“That’s assuming they even let me have visitors.” She shook her head. “Think it over. I’m not going to hold you to anything you say right now. But—” She gave him a real smile, that time. “Thanks.”

“I’m also not going to stand by if they decide to execute you, or hand you over to the batarians, or ship you off to somewhere like Purgatory,” Garrus said, with all the conviction he could muster. “I don’t think the rest of the team will, either. Let us help you.”

She had started, her eyes widening, and now she was shaking her head. “I don’t think it’ll come to that.”

“Let us make contingency plans anyway. Planning never hurt anyone.” He was already turning over the possibilities in his mind. He had no doubts of the crew’s loyalty. Whatever they decided to do with her, they could find a way to get her out of it... if she’d let them.

Her face shifted through a series of expressions, too fast for him to read, but it settled into a smile. “I guess not.”

“We’re not going to let them hang you out to dry,” he told her. He’d stood by the first time, after her death, unsure what to do while the press tore her words to shreds. Taking himself to the far ends of the galaxy wasn’t an option this time. This time, he’d find a way to stand with her, no matter what the cost.

“I appreciate it,” she said. Her brow furrowed, and Garrus watched in curiosity as she took a breath, let it out, and seemed to hesitate before taking a step closer. “Garrus, I— wanted to thank you for bearing with me, especially after...” She trailed off.

“After?” he asked after a moment.

“After... what I said. Before the mission.” Her gaze slid to the side.

Garrus wanted to ask her a dozen questions: what she wanted, what she intended, how she wanted things to go from here. But it so plainly wasn’t the time. Not with what she’d been through in the last few days, not with the guilt that left her eyes shadowed, not with the prospect of a trial looming in her future. She needed to keep her focus on those things, on the Reapers, not on the _dating thing_ they’d been able to enjoy for a few weeks. He’d known it wouldn’t last; he just hadn’t expected their fortunes to turn quite so soon or so hard for the worse.

“Hey,” he said. “You know I’m always here if you need me.”

“I do,” she said softly, a little of the tension easing out of her stance, and moved closer, raising her face. He recognized the gesture, and bent his head to kiss her, as best he could. Her lips were soft and warm and gentle; her hands found his and loosely twining around them. There was no urgency, only stillness and comfort. He let himself linger in the moment until Shepard pulled away, slowly. “And now we both should go back to work.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling, and she smiled in her turn.

It was only a kiss; he didn’t dare read it as a promise. But it was a good sign, at least, a sign that what they had wasn’t about to end. Who could tell what would happen next?

If he had to, he’d wait for her.

He could only hope she was equally willing to wait.

Whatever would come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first played the Arrival DLC, I couldn't help wondering what the other crew members thought about the whole thing. There's no interaction around the issue in the game, so I wanted to explore how things might have gone down. Especially for a Shepard involved with Garrus, it seemed like this could be an interesting and difficult moment in the romance. Out of these musings, the story took form, and was beautifully illustrated by Celleno. Thank you!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
